I’ll never forget the very first client I massaged, but I wish I could. If I didn’t have so much time and money invested in my massage education I would have walked out before I even touched the crazy woman who walked into the office that day. I was all by myself on a Saturday without a receptionist, the other massage therapist I worked with, or the chiropractor I worked for. I arrived twenty minutes before her scheduled appointment because I was ready to finally start my career!

I waited behind our front desk, and waited, and waited. Fifteen minutes into her scheduled time I heard a rumble and looked out the picture window just in time to see my client fly into our parking lot driving a van too big for her tiny body; she could barely see over the steering wheel. She climbed out of the driver’s seat like she was on a ladder. The door was blocking most of her body, leaving only her right foot in sight as it searched for the ground below; it made contact and then the left one followed. I was able to get a better look at her while she walked across the front of the van to the passenger side. I’d never seen anyone look so sloppy, her clothes hanging off of her thin body and stringy hair hanging from her head. I had no idea they made bags as big as the one she had on her shoulder; the bottom of it met the middle of her shin. She marched into the office with a purpose.

“I’m gonna piss down my leg this very second if I don’t get to a toilet!” she yelled in what sounded like an English accent.

On her way to the bathroom she dropped her bag, belongings now scattered everywhere. She also left the smell of patchouli lingering in the air. Ten minutes later she zoomed out of the bathroom as fast as she came into the office.

“Man, oh, man! I sit to pee, and those beans just snuck up on me! Are you a vegan? You look like one – you’re too smart to eat meat, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Have you had a massage before?” I asked her, skipping over her question.

“Of course! In fact, I used to see that other therapist you work with, but I don’t ever want to see her again – rubbed me the wrong way! Let’s see if you make the cut, and if you do, I’ll be yours for life!” she boasted.

“Fantastic,” I said, trying hard to hold back tears. I couldn’t imagine this woman being the type of client anyone would look forward to.

She followed me to the massage room, and as I tried to tell her how to prepare for the massage she kicked me out, claiming she knew the drill. As I walked away I told myself I would stay positive about my first experience on the job, but my personal pep talk didn’t last long. The door of her room opened, and unfortunately, I turned around. There she was, standing in front of me baring every inch of her naked, sagging body.

“What are you doing?!” I asked her, each word louder than the last.

“Those beans are back!” she screamed, then she turned around – fast – and made her way to the bathroom. Each step she took was accompanied by a musical toot, and as I stood and watched her move to her gassy symphony, I made a mental note never to run anywhere while completely naked. There were things shaking on her that no one should have to witness.

Twenty minutes later I finally had her on the table with only a few minutes left of the scheduled appointment time, and after informing her of this she begged me to go over into the next hour, promising to pay extra. I agreed because she was my only client that day and I was a newbie – I needed all the hours I could get.

We were now into the second hour, and I began massaging her arm as she was lying on her stomach. I moved her arm away from her body and at the same time that I saw the harriest arm pit in the world, I smelled a combination of dirty human, and even more patchouli than when she first walked in. I looked up and started to take deep breaths in and out. I had a feeling she hadn’t taken a shower since 1973. I finished her arm and started on the other side of her back, and as soon as I did she spoke.

“Now, my bum has really been a hurtin’ on that side. Get in that cheek with your elbow, will ya? Ha! Get it? I’m gonna let you get cheeky!” she was quite amused at her little joke.

“Yeah, thanks for letting me, uh, get in there,” I said, wondering if she noted the lack of excitement in my voice.

Damn it. I knew all about the beans she had at lunch, and I did not want to go anywhere near her “bum”. She asked me again with more persistence after I pretended not to hear her the first time. She probably thought I was deaf as much as I ignored her comments. I had no choice – I was goin’ in. I moved toward her hip slowly, taking my time to get there, and as I inched closer she started rocking her body from left to right, bringing one side of her body off of the table, and then the other. I had no idea what she was doing so I stood up, crossed my arms and leaned against the wall to try to figure it out.

“What are you doing? I can’t keep my balance if you can’t keep still,” I said.

“What do you mean? I’m not doing a thing.” she replied.

“Just stop moving because I can’t work like that!” I was trying hard not to yell, but I was annoyed.

She said nothing, but stopped the rocking immediately after my mini outburst. I made my way down to her hip area, and as soon as I applied the first bit of pressure she passed gas right in my face. There was such an offensive smell that filled the room, but my client was anything but offended.

“See that?” she asked.

“No, but I heard it and I smell it,” I answered.

“You’re workin’ my digestive system. I love comin’ here after a meal because all of the-”

“Beans?,” I cut her off.

“Yes! How did you know?” she sounded ecstatic.

“Lucky guess.”

Still lying on her stomach, it was time to massage her legs. When I lifted the sheet I did a double take because they were as hairy as my husband’s. I made sure to triple the amount of oil I usually used for smooth extremities, and after I thought I had enough I made the first stroke up toward her buttocks. I was expecting it to be a smooth, gliding stroke, but I was stopped short just before I got to the back of the knee. I created so much friction I thought for sure there would be a trail of smoke behind my now red, raw palms. I got more oil and tried again. Much better.

I was using proper body mechanics so my upper body was close to her legs as I worked, being careful not to bend at my waist. As I was working on her upper leg I must have hit a sensitive spot because all at once she yelped as her knee bent and her lower leg came toward me. She kicked me in my temple with the heel of her foot.

“What the hell lady?” I asked her, standing up and backing away.

“Oh! You hit a spot and my goodness! My reflexes sure are in check though!,” she answered me.

My head hurt, I was exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was touch her again. I told her the massage was over, and I explained I would meet her up front as I walked out of the room. She began to protest, but I didn’t wait around to hear anything else she had to say because I knew I might say something I’d regret. I went to the bathroom to wash the oily hair off and when I looked in the mirror I saw blood coming from the side of my head. Her feet must have been so callused they cut me! I cleaned up, grabbed my purse, and marched up to the check out desk to find my client waiting for me with her huge bag hanging from one shoulder. I had a feeling she was going to let me have it after walking out of the room so suddenly.

“You!” she shouted.

“I know, I know, I-“, I was cut off.

“That was the best massage I’ve ever had! I’d like to come back next week!” she exclaimed.

I decided right then that I would have rather been yelled at. I was so tired! This woman was like watching a two-year old, in fact, my daughter was two and she was better behaved! As I said before, I was new and I needed all the clients I could get so I really had no choice.

“When would you like to come back in?” I asked.

*********************

Five years later this client is still on my schedule. She acts the same way exact way today as she did when she came in for the first time. I always remember to take a Valium before I massage her or she ends up doing or saying something to upset me. I will admit, she has given me a lot to write about!

If you have followed me from the start you probably noticed I haven’t said one positive thing about being a massage therapist, but there has to be a bright side to the profession, right? I don’t know anyone who would put up with these people if there wasn’t something worthwhile about it.

As many strange, rude and disgusting people I have on my schedule that make my job miserable, it’s the kind and thoughtful people I see that make me want to come back. I met a woman named Candy almost three years ago, and when I think about her first massage I smile because I had no idea she would change my life forever. Her massage started just like everyone else’s, pleasantries exchanged, she told me some of her health history and where she was hurting, but then as I massaged her we began talking and I thoroughly enjoyed the conversation. She rescheduled for the following week, and I was so thankful I had another “good one” to look forward to.

I would not be writing my book if it weren’t for Candy. She has inspired me in so many ways, and one of the most important lessons she has taught me is to go after what you want until you get it. She is a writer as well, and she understands me on a level a lot of people don’t. I can go to her and talk to her about the frustrations of being a writer, but I can also share my triumphs with her because she is just as happy as I am when I experience the joys of writing. A friend who is truly happy for you and feels no jealousy towards you during the good times is hard to come by.

Candy is such a wonderful mother of three amazing kids, one girl and two boys. I hope my kids stay on the path they are on now, but it’s so hard to tell exactly what lies in your children’s future. I know when I am worried or stressed about my kids, or if I am proud of something they accomplished, I can go right to Candy and tell her. She is always there to give me advice, celebrate with me when they have done a good job at school, or calm me down when I start to worry about them.

Without Candy, my family and I would not be as involved in our community. There has never been a Christmas that we didn’t donate toys, or a Thanksgiving we forgot to bring cans by a food bank, but Candy makes me want to do more than the minimum. I see how she has touched people’s lives through the non-profit she started, and I realized there is so much more I can be doing. Candy makes me want to be a better person, she makes me want to give more to those in need and love those who just need a shoulder to cry on or a helping hand to get through a hard time.

Without massage, I don’t know if Candy and I would have ever met. I believe every single person who has come into my life, has for a reason. Maybe the sole purpose that some of my clients have wound up on my table was to make my blog more enjoyable to write and even funnier to read, but for people who started out as clients and have become friends, you serve a greater purpose. You have made my life more enjoyable, you have made me a better person, and massage therapy a lot easier to handle.

In my previous post I compared massage clients to a street walker’s “corner” because that is exactly how some massage therapists treat their clients. The first two years that I worked in the office I currently practice in, there was another massage therapist who practiced there as well. For my own safety we will call her Medusa since her hair was a pile of tight springy curls on top of her head. In fact, she not only practiced there, she was the massage manager and the one who hired me even though I had two months left in massage school.
While I finished school I worked in the chiropractic side, but in my free time learned the massage ropes. I thought this was the best thing that had ever happened to me, until I actually got my license and was able to start practicing.
Medusa went from being the sweet massage chick who was gracious enough to take a chance on the newbie, to hating every fiber of my being overnight. I couldn’t do anything right. I tried so hard to help her with anything she needed such as checking messages, changing her sheets, and doing the laundry. She saw it as taking over her practice.
One afternoon she came back from the gym and walked into the office we shared. I was on the phone, completely oblivious to the fact I needed to be very afraid of her and what she was about to do. Medusa walked right over, hung up my call, and grabbed the receiver out of my hand, slamming it down on the base.
“What the fuck are you doing?!?” she asked.
“I was talking to my-”
“You better make the right decision right now and NOT lie to me. I know you were talking to my client!” she screamed.
I didn’t say anything. She had a crazy look in her eye, and I knew whatever came out of my mouth would not be believed. I got up to walk past her, but that wasn’t the right thing to do either. Medusa blocked my path and I quickly tried to fake her out and pass around her other side.
“Sit down!!” she was screaming again.
I did what she told me to even though I could have picked her tiny troll self up and body slammed her into the wood floor. That image was stuck in my head – the idea was sounding better by the second.
“I know what you’re trying to do. I know you want everything I have and I’m not going to let you have it! You think you’re so awesome with your perfect little family, all of your education, blah, blah, blah!” she was now shaking as she yelled. I just kept listening.
“You will NOT touch that phone again – do you understand me? Are we clear?”
“Yeah, I don’t have to use your stupid phone,” I told her as I rolled my eyes. That was a big mistake. She lunged at me and put her hand over my mouth. I wanted to bite her so bad, but the way she was acting I was scared I might contract some disease that makes you go nuts.
“Don’t you EVER use that tone with me again. Do you understand me?”
I couldn’t talk because her nasty hand was still over my mouth so I just nodded my head.
“One more thing… If I even see you look at one of my clients, this is nothing compared to what I will do to you. Do you get me?” Medusa’s nostrils were flared and she was spitting as she talked.
At that moment the chiropractor walked in and Medusa released me from her hold and walked away like she was an innocent little angel. The rest of the day was normal, and I said nothing about what she did.
A week later there was a message on the phone that she and I “shared” in our office. I asked her if she could check it because it might be a client I was waiting for to call.
“You can check it, silly goose, it’s your phone too!” she said with a smile.
Good God, what have I gotten myself into??

Keep reading for more stories about crazy clients and the massage therapist I worked with!!

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Title says it folks, I’m not a hooker, but I think the majority of the people on my table think I am. Although most of you think I’m talking about men, women are just as guilty. Here’s an example:

This was screamed down the hall at me once as a woman left the room after the massage, getting dressed as she ran out the door “I left your money on the bed. You were great!”

That’s awesome lady, could you tell my pimp too while you’re at it? Maybe I’ll be able to keep 70% this time.

Example number 2 (for everyone who has only been reading my blog to see when the hell I was going to write about happy endings)

A man asked me just the other day if I could give him a “really good release.” I was hoping he didn’t mean what I thought he did, but being in this profession for almost five years, I knew exactly what he meant.

“No, I don’t do that,” I said.

“Oh, come on! I won’t tell anyone – I promise.”

Hmmmm, mister when you put it that way, it sounds like something I want to do now – yeah right! Now, here’s the speech I give all of them:

“No! I am not willing to risk my family, my license, or my job just so you can “feel better”. That’s what hookers are for!” They follow this up by saying “Come on, baby, no one will know. I won’t tell.” To which I reply “I will know, and the thought disgusts me – you disgust me. The massage is over and I will meet you up front to collect your payment.” As I walk out of the room I can hear them call me “bitch” or other mean names, but I don’t stop and turn around to defend myself. They are worthless, and it’s pointless to waste my breath.

Did you know that there are actually massage bootie calls? Yes, there are! All of my clients have my cell phone number. This faux pas happened when I was an eager beaver, wanted everyone’s business at any hour of the day. Be careful what you wish for. Now, I have a steady practice which consists of semi-average people (okay, who am I kidding? You’ve read what goes on in this place. They are weird!), and I have a schedule that is very consistent. It never fails though. My cell, which is positioned right by my head when I sleep, will ring or alert me that I have a text at 3am and it’s a client (most of the time half drunk) asking me for a massage. See, massage bootie calls. I just tell them they are drunk and stupid, and we will forget that it ever happened.

What’s even worse is massage therapists act like their clients, who could have been with them for years or just weeks, are the equivalent to street corners. Do not, I repeat do not, look at another therapists client! It’s exactly like standing on Kiki’s turf without permission. Your fellow therapist will do anything to keep that client, right down to spreading nasty rumors about you.

It’s funny to me that massage therapists ar portrayed as these flighty, pot smokin’ hippies who pick flowers all day, but I beg to differ. I always have to be on the look out for a man’s wondering eyes and hands, rude comments, and unthinkable requests. I have to remind people I work on them while they are lying on a table, not a bed, and I have to tell them not to talk about the fact I “see them naked on a weekly basis and make them feel so good” if they see me in public. I’ve gotten plenty of strange looks from people who overhear our conversation.

Oh, and as far as the other “hooker”, I mean therapist I worked with – I had to let her go. I was tired of fighting over corners.

I think I’m pretty laid back when it comes to people and their behavior (I have to be in this line of work), but there are times when even I have to take a deep breath, curse so low my client can’t hear me, and just walk away before I haul off and hit them. There are so many types of people I deal with, it builds up my immunity to the weird, mean, gross and disgusting, but there are some times that all this immunity I have against the evil people makes no difference at all. They manage to get under my skin and annoy me so I never want to return to the office again, but sometimes they make me laugh so freakin’ hard I want to go back and see what happens the next day.

There’s this lady who really just rubs me the wrong way – ha, ha, ha. The way she moves, the way she talks, and what she says are just a few things that get under my skin. While lying on the table face down, she kicks her legs vigorously, her feet kicking so hard making the most annoying sound over and over and over. There are times I almost scream “STOP KICKING YOUR LEGS, YOU JERK!!!” I haven’t done that yet, but God, I want to! She doesn’t stop talking from the time she walks in the office, never staying on one subject longer than a minute and a half. She tells me she has restless leg syndrome, but I want to ask her if she’s sure doesn’t have ADHD as well. All signs I see point to yes. Then, what she talks about I cannot write, but I will say this – it’s totally inappropriate for any age to read. She has the ability to offend any age, race, or gender, and she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. She was not taught that words have such an impact on people’s feelings.

So, you now know that I am writing about a woman who kicks her legs non stop, talks just as much as she kicks, and she talks about subjects totally off limits. Oh yeah, she talks really loud. Like, really, really loud. I’m massaging this woman one sunny afternoon, she was talking and would just not shut up, and I was not listening to her like I had grown accustomed to doing. Blah, blah, blah. Rub, rub, rub. I shorted her five minutes because she started running her mouth, and kicking her legs like she was swimming an olympic size swimming pool. I told her I was done and that I would meet her up at the front. I exited the room quickly, and then met the chiropractor I work with out in the hall.

He and I were talking about what she wanted to talk about, what I allowed her to talk about, and what I blocked out. As he and I were laughing, all of a sudden the door to the room she was in flew open and there she was holding the garbage bag that used to be in my trash can. She walked up to me and handed the bag without saying a word.

“You don’t have to take the garbage out,” I told her.

“Oh yes I do, trust me,” she said.

“Why? What did you do?” I asked.

“I peed in it,” she admitted.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I have wondered that for quite a while, and now after you peed in my trash can, I think I have enough of a reason to ask,” I said.

“I just couldn’t make it to the bathroom, that’s all,” she said.

“No, that’s not all. You have a problem. You can’t control your legs, your language, and apparently, you can’t control your piss. You will take that out to the dumpster. I’ll show you where it is,” I told her.

What the f%*k is wrong with some people? I could not believe I was looking at a garbage bag full of pee pee. A) The bag was one of those thin kind, so at any moment it could give way with what was once in her bladder. B) Most women have bad aim, and if you’re a woman you know by the condition of public toilet seats. Most likely she dripped yellow liquid all over the bag, inside and out, and I was not touching it.

She walked the bag out to the dumpster and did not walk back into the office – that day. She came back and wanted more massage. I’m not good at saying no so there she was, kicking and screaming. The piss never came up in conversation again, and she never took a piss in my bag again either.

Often times I am asked if I am ever tempted to walk out during the middle of a massage once my client is fast asleep, and while I have been tempted more than 50% of my career, I refrain and continue the massage as if I was just as content in my dark and boring room as my sleeping client. If I were to leave with a guarantee there would be no waking up from Sleeping Beauty then why would any massage therapist consider staying in the room in that situation? They wouldn’t. This scenario actually taking place is almost impossible because it seems that people are only in a twilight sleep, and as soon as the person is not being touched they would wake up, realize they are getting screwed out of a massage, and would storm out f the room in a fit of anger. With my luck, they would forget to put on their clothes as their nude body was jiggling in places no one should have to see.

Well, the other day something hilarious happened. “You had something funny happen in massage?”, you ask. Yes, it’s hard to believe, but I did. I was sitting in my office hanging out with my husband and kids, and I get a call from the front desk informing me that I would soon be left alone with the intern that knows how to do next to nothing and I would have to bring my next clients back myself. Then she added, “They’re old.” Before I could protest, she hung up and I heard the staff minus the intern leave the office.

I know what you must be thinking. “What’s so bad about old people, Kendall?” Well, I’m not talking about the people who can perform activities such as getting on the table, dressing themselves, and going poo – that kind of thing. Really, if a child isn’t potty trained, this statement would include them as well. As of now, my children can wipe their own asses, my husband is self-sufficient, and my parents and in-laws are young, spry, and can fully function on their own. I am uncomfortable around people who can’t tell me when they have to use the bathroom, who don’t know their names, who could fall off the table at any time, and basically make me work any harder than what I already do while I give the massage. I am not a baby sitter. I am an educated practitioner, and my primary reason for going to school was to avoid doing the work of a nursing assistant. It is what it is, and you can think of me what you will because I don’t care. If I were writing this to make everyone happy there would be no point.

I walked to the lobby and there sat the couple that looked to be in their nineties. They were both cute enough with their matching mustaches, and as I approached them they looked up and stared at me with squinted eyes.

“Who is up first?” I screamed. They said nothing, and kept staring. Shit, this wasn’t good. I could already tell this wasn’t going to go my way. I rescreamed the question as I walked closer to them.

“She is”, the man coughed out. His teeth came loose, but he promptly got them back in without the use of his hands like he was doing a senior center party trick.

The woman stood, handed her purse to her husband but he grunted and shoved it back at her. Hmmm, so men never agree to carry the purse. I always kind of thought they gave in after a certain age. I offered to take it from her, and she not only handed me that but she took off her jacket. I took that too, but then she made the motion indicating she was about to take off her shirt.

“NO!” I commanded. She refrained, and began her shuffle walk down the hall following me to the room. Once there I showed her exactly what to do by pretending to take off my clothes (don’t get any ideas guys – it was so not sexy). I actually climbed on the table as she stood swaying in the corner, not even paying attention. After getting somewhat of a confirmation she understood, I left her to get ready while I said goodbye to my family who were patiently waiting for me.

While I was in my office with them, I heard the door open. I peeked around the corner just in time to see her naked. Crap!

“Was I supposed to take all of my clothes off?” she huffed the question.

“YES! I’ll be in in a minute – go lay down!” I screamed as I tried to motion lying face down while I was standing up. Don’t try that, by the way.

I got my children out of the office before their virgin eyes weren’t so virgin anymore. I walked into the room, and my new best friend was still standing there naked. I guess trying to explain what “face down” looks like while I was standing wasn’t so helpful. I got her up there finally, but she just didn’t get it. I began the massage as best as I could, and after five minutes she propped herself up and said she wanted to take her hearing aid off.

“It’s not working anyway”, I told her. No response. I was right. I placed it on the shelf and continued on.

Five more minutes passed and she simply yelled “OFF!”. I jumped back quickly.

“Is it ova? Are you done?” she inquired.

I decided to have her roll over, but that was a huge mistake I will never fully recover from. Let me ask you. Did you know that boobies really do eventually rest on the top of the thigh when sitting upright? I did not know this. I thought it was a funny joke that card series from Hallmark makes with their character “Maxine”. This is no laughing matter, and I will never buy one of those cards for someone again. I have seen this phenomenon, and I am actively trying to prevent this from happening to myself and loved ones.

She was now successfully lying on her back – almost. It looked like she was going to fall off any minute, but I was in the home stretch and I wasn’t turning back now, or so I thought.

“You know I need a pillow when I’m lying on my back!!” she coughed out. Damn it! I left to get a flipping pillow. I was gone for a millisecond, and when I turned back around she had quickly shuffled up behind me so her naked body was too close for comfort.

I got her back up AGAIN, and finished the massage. I cut her time because she was now relieving herself of gas in both ways. My room smelled, and I had enough of the up and down and rolling over. She told me that the massage was wonderful, and after playing charades to show her what to do next, I left the room.

I cringed when I heard the door open because I thought I would see the nakedness again, but she was clothed. I shuffled her down to the bathroom, and walked to my office to find a Valium. I couldn’t believe what I heard next.

“I’m here for my massage.” It was Princess Saggy Bosoms, and she didn’t remember the massage that I would never forget.

My receptionist left her, and I met her in the hall with her answer before she even had to ask.

“Yes, she did have her massage already. Please make sure you walk her to her husband.”

I couldn’t friggin’ believe that the one time I could have left, I didn’t.

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I typically work late into the evening, and beyond 6pm I am all by myself. I’m asked continuously if I’m scared of being attacked by creepy men, or women for that matter, but I am very careful and selective when it comes to my evening clients. There was this one time this guy somehow slipped through the cracks, but he was referred by several of his coworkers I massaged so I thought he would be okay.

My first impression of this guy wasn’t the best, not because he was creepy, but because he was so rude. I walked into the lobby and approached the chair he was sitting in with an outstretched hand to introduce myself. I received nothing in return but an index finger pointing to the sky telling me to “hold on” as his acne scarred face looked down at his cell phone. Hold on? Seriously? I stay here until ungodly hours of the night, and all I get is a hold on? Oh, you have got to be kidding me!

I walked the asshole back to the massage room as he made a phone call right in the middle of a question I was trying to ask him. Once we were at the door to my room I told him exactly how I needed him to undress, well you know, so there would be no expecting the sex – “sexpectin”. I was almost out of the room to go find some Valium, but he called me back in to ask if I did “specific nude gluteal work”. Haaaaa! Where the Hell did he think he was?

“No there will not be any “nude gluteal work” done here – EVER! Which coworker told you that could be a possibility?” I screamed. He jumped back a foot.

“None of them”, he said. “You don’t have to mention this to any of ’em, okay?” he was practically begging he sounded so desperate, and was looking sort of sweaty all of a sudden.

I left him to get ready, and I took a while coming back in hopes of his sweat seeping into his pock marks, leaving me with a dry back to work on. I walked into the room and he said,”I thought you’d never come” in this deep I’m trying too hard to sound sexy voice. I thought I might vomit, but swallowed it back. This would be a long hour.

I should have done some preliminary work before using massage oil on his back because he came well equipped with his own bodily secretions. As I worked my way down his spine, I’m sure I looked like a Jeep going off-road as he was the bumpiest weirdo I had ever laid my hands on. Hell, he was the bumpiest person, weird or normal, I had ever touched! I guess I shouldn’t fault a man for something he probably couldn’t control, but his whole persona made me dislike him, and when I dislike someone I naturally attack something they really can’t help. I’m kind of a bitch like that, but then again, if you aren’t weird, creepy, an asshole, mean, stupid, etc. then you have nothing to worry about.

As I was coming back up to finish off one of the most wonderful massage moves ever created (seriously almost orgasmic) I thought for a split second he did have an orgasm. What came out of this man’s mouth, diaphragm really, was almost embarrassing, for both of us. “OOOOOHHHHHHAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHMMMMMMM YEAH!” he screamed. He sounded like a really old, ancient vacuum cleaner being powered down. At that moment I was so happy it was only he and I because the sound that came from somewhere deep within him made me feel so wrong, and I can only imagine what others would have thought on the other side of the door.

The moaning and groaning continued for what seemed to be an eternity, and every time I heard another horrible, exaggerated explosion of his pleasure being released for my listening enjoyment, I knew he really thought highly of himself. Suddenly the mood of the massage shifted, and he actually began a conversation. Although it was about himself, talking was so much better than listening to him make barbaric noises every other second. He propped his disgusting, oil laden body up and looked right at me before he spoke.

“I have a great group of people who I would love for you to meet, and I mean, they have just helped me so much. I know that with a lot of time with this group you will be able to break free from all of the negativity I can feel in this room. You don’t even know how much is pouring out of you right now, I didn’t know how much I was carrying around with me, well, until my group set me free”, Moan and Groan so eloquently explained as he cried. “My dad and I have reconnected after too many years to even count, and that’s just amazing. They will offer you so much, and I will pay for your first meeting just so you can see how awesome these people are,” he cried on.

“Dude, I don’t have to pay people to be friends with me, and the only reason you feel all of this negativity you speak of is because you are on my table right now. I’m not comfortable with such loud expressions, I guess you could say. That’s not proper massage etiquette, just to let you know”, I told him.

He was still crying. There are situations when it’s totally fine for men to cry, for instance, on his wedding day, or the birth of his child, but at a massage? Not only that, but, the first time he has a massage with the therapist and the tears start flowing with no end in sight is just odd. I can totally believe he didn’t have a relationship with his father because if he did, his father would have told him to man up and save the tears for something to really cry about. (See, I am a real bitch when you aren’t a normal person to begin with). Moan and Groan got a little testy then.

“You DO NOT pay these people to be friends with you! This is an organization that purifies one’s outlook on life.”

“Okay, the massage is over. I will meet you up at the front, okay?” I walked out of the room so he couldn’t say another word.

Once at the check out counter, “Moan and Groan’s” mood changed again. This dude was as bad as Britney Spears when she’s PMSing, maybe even worse since he didn’t bother to wipe the tears before he approached me. Oh, wait just a minute! Those were fresh tears, and I could sense yet another lecture about letting go of my anger.

“I do apologize about that back there. I, uh, know I got carried away, and I came on too strong. I really want you to know how sorry I am, but I would like to make it up to you by paying for your first class.”

“Look, I appreciate one’s passion and ability to commit themselves to something, anything really, but I am not going to your group counseling.” I figured if I related it to psychological help he would get pissed and never come back, but instead he smiled and pulled the “kill ’em with kindness” routine.

“Okay, that’s okay. I would like to make another appointment because I am not giving up on you. Do you have anything available next week?”

I set him up with his appointment, and he was on his way as I immediately began thinking of reasons I could use to cancel him. Yes, massage therapists do that all of the time. Wouldn’t you?

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It’s 7am, I’m barely awake and annoyed to be back in my massage room so soon after leaving at midnight the night before. My client is already asleep, and I was nodding off as the music and low lighting was sending me into dreamland. Just then I heard a noise that reminded me of air being let out of a bicycle tire, but it quickly stopped, and I was right back to nodding off. Not sure of how much time had passed, I woke up to what sounded like a BB gun firing a few quick rounds, but unlike the air being let out of the tire, this gunshot sound was accompanied by a smell like no other. I just knew if I took in too much of this horrid odor I could die, and I had too much to do for that nonsense.

I decided to ask what it was I thought was going to kill me, but before I asked, I practiced inquiring in the most courteous manner possible. What came out was far from courteous, in fact, I was so rude.

“Did you fart?” I fired the question at her like the BB gun I thought I just heard.

She snorted herself awake, then I thought she snorted some more, but that was just how she breathed. “What did you say? Did you ask me if I farted? I don’t know why I would be doing that, I mean, the only thing I ate last night was chili,” she answered before I heard another snore/fart combo.

I have massaged people who have had intestinal problems such as the one I dealt with at this appointment, but they all excused themselves or even cancelled hours before they were supposed to see me. This wonderful woman basically told me my nostrils meant nothing to her, and continued to pass her disgusting gas for the duration of the massage. I am not one of those therapists that tries to cut people short of their time, but I had to. I could not breathe, and I seriously thought I was going to pass out on top of her.

Once out of the room and in clean air again I swear I could think more clearly about my next move, but before I could do this she dressed in record time and was farting her way down the hall to our nearest bathroom. I didn’t see her again that day which was fine because I have no idea if I would have the ability to make eye contact with someone who had capabilities to clear a room that quickly.

It’s fine when it’s just one and they’re done, but almost an hour of that in my face was just too much. She never excused herself, apologized – nothing, and the next appointment she acted as if nothing happened. The “incident” was never mentioned again.

My name is Kendall, and I’m a massage therapist. I’ve decided to write a memoir on my first three crazy years as a massage therapist, but before the book comes out my goal is to entertain and entice you with a blog about my typical day to day experiences.

This entry is to all of you who have ever asked me or any other massage therapist, “Do people fart in their massages?”
Obviously, the answer is yes, yes they do!